


Russian Roulette: Resigned

by Khoraz



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Character Death, Gen, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing (because Anderson)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 23:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15326889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khoraz/pseuds/Khoraz
Summary: Connor died in front of Hank's eyes, then the next day his replacement walked into work as if nothing had changed.The detective knew that his partner was a machine - part of a series that could come off the product line at a moment's notice - but how was he supposed to react to this new Connor? How was he supposed to feel?He didn't have a fucking clue. Maybe the answer is in a bullet.





	Russian Roulette: Resigned

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at Detroit fanfiction. I've just finished the game once through and have fallen in love with the characters and story.
> 
> If anyone has any ideas on how I could improve, or what I could try writing in future, I'd be happy to receive them - I'll give most anything a try once.
> 
> Please enjoy~

“I fail to see the utility in this exercise, lieutenant.”

“Fuckin' hell, Connor, where’s your sense of excitement?”

A dark eyebrow lifted, accompanied by a slight tilt of the head; Connor’s silent way of answering the obvious.

“… Right, right. Shit.”

“I must protest against such a reckless endeavour. I cannot allow you to risk your life over something so meaningless.”

But he (it?) would risk his life for the mission. Anderson couldn’t exactly argue that playing Russian roulette with an android was an especially smart thing to do, but damned if he cared. Detroit was falling to shit around him, and he’d had enough. If only he hadn’t let Connor come back with him, things might already be over.

Why the hell had he agreed to let the damned android come to his home? The last time Connor had paid him a visit he’d been rewarded with a broken window and a freezing cold shower – but then that wasn’t this Connor. It shouldn’t have been a difficult concept for the detective to wrap his head around; android models were replaced all the time when things went wrong, and investigating deviants had a hell of a lot of potential for ‘wrong’… it was just so fucking weird to see his partner walk into the precinct without a scratch when he’d seen that exact same face with a bullet through it the previous day.

He hadn’t known how the fuck to feel. He shouldn’t have felt anything – Connor was a tool, right? The android certainly had no issues in reminding him that the focus was on the job, with everything else being secondary, but then occasionally something would surprise him; a smile or a gasp that seemed too real, or that time on the bridge when Connor had stared down the barrel of his gun and told him he didn’t want to die. Androids were a walking mess of contradictions, and Connor was perhaps the best example around.

Or rather, Connor had been. Whatever relationship might have formed – the friendly banter, the camaraderie, the trust – it was long gone. The machine that now stood in his living room wasn’t the same one to have approached him in the bar – the fifth, apparently – and tried to pry him away from his slump. This Connor wasn’t… wasn’t him.

“Detective?”

Shit, how long had he been thinking?

“You look troubled, detective. I have detected an increase in blood pressure correlative with undue stress. Perhaps it wouldn’t be wise to continue this ‘game’, as you put it?”

“Shut up, Connor.”

Even saying the name left a bad taste in his mouth. Why did they have to have the same name, same face, same voice? It was fucking disgusting. You can’t just replace a person like that.

Not a person. Right.

“I wanna know exactly who I’m partnering with. I need to know I can trust you, right?”

“With all due respect, lieutenant, my programming does not allow me to act in any way that would jeopardise my mission.” Connor lifted a hand, his middle and ring fingers resting just beneath the faintly-blue display by his hairline. “I would argue that there could be no one more trustworthy.”

Anderson’s eyes narrowed, his hand tightening a little on the revolver currently left dangling, aimlessly, off the arm of the chair. “I can think of at least one.” He snapped back quickly – too quickly. He saw the display ring flicker from blue, to yellow, then back again as the android rapidly processed the emotional outburst.

“You are referring to my predecessor, correct? I assure you, I have inherited all memories of the previous Connor model, and am equally equipped to assist you in your investigation… though perhaps it is disconcerting to see the same face, do remember that I am merely a machine created for a task. You would replace a broken television, would you not?”

“See, that’s exactly what I’m fuckin’ talkin’ about!” Anderson’s voice had risen to a shout – from zero to one hundred in a matter of moments as was so often the case. “You’re not the same, not by a fuckin’ long shot. I bet you don’t even remember that night at the bridge? Bet your makers didn’t see that memory as ‘important to the mission’, huh?”

Again, the blue light turned yellow (for longer this time) before Connor spoke again, his expression relentlessly calm and collected. “No, I cannot recall those moments. My handler at Cyberlife selected the essential components to ensure that my performance would be better than that of the previous Connor. I-“

The light flickered into red as Anderson suddenly rose to his feet, his free hand gripping the neat collar of Connor’s shirt to tug him closer while the other brought the revolver to press it firmly against the android’s forehead. It was hard enough to leave an indent in faux-skin, and Anderson’s teeth were gritted with anger, a barely-visible shimmer over his narrowed eyes. “Don’t you ever talk about your fuckin’ ‘predecessor’ as if he failed. I’d probably be in the damn morgue if he hadn’t-“

He cut himself off and blinked several times, staring into the symmetrical features that had barely changed in response to his emotional outburst. A hollow laugh passed between his lips as he shoved the android away, shaking his head. “Ah, what’s the fuckin’ point? I could shoot you right between the eyes and it’d make no difference.”

Connor had taken a step back to straighten up the pristine suit that had been wrinkled, tilting his head to one side once fully presentable. “I apologise if I offended you, lieutenant. I will avoid speaking of my model in future.”

It was as if Anderson hadn’t even mentioned possibly putting a bullet through the artificial skull. But then, what did the detective expect? The same reaction as the first Connor? A glimpse of genuine humanity amidst the circuitry and blue blood?

This machine wasn’t Connor, and it never would be again. All he could do was focus on the case; solve the deviant mess and then… it would be over.

“Just get the hell out. I don’t feel like company anymore.” He slumped back into his chair and gestured with his gun towards the front door. Somewhere in the background Sumo offered a low whine, as if sensing that his master’s mood had suddenly taken a dramatic downward shift.

“As you wish, but I must insist on one condition before I leave.”

“Who the fuck are you to-“

“Please give me your gun, and I will go.”

Anderson frowned and stared down at his gun for a moment, unconsciously looking to cling to one final chance at seeing something he recognise in Connor. “Why the fuck do you care?”

“Because we are partners in this investigation. Part of my programming includes maintaining a positive relationship with the police department, and I cannot let you-“

“Right, sure. Sure.” Anderson didn’t want to hear anymore, and he threw the gun carelessly across the room. Of course it was caught in deft hands and put away safety in Connor’s waistband.

“Thank you, lieutenant… I will see you tomorrow morning.” Connor nodded, turned, and left.


End file.
